…mind talks…

digital communication

It bites. You scream in pain. It stings. You holler. It pinches. You yelp in agony. It scratches. You moan sympathetically. It locks you up in chains. You cry out. It snares at you. You whimper.

And then it licks you all around playfully. It overwhelmes you with love. It consumes you in its erotica, leaving you breathless. It shows you its gold and diamonds, endless treasure.

But just when you are trying to allow yourself to be fully submerged into its calmness, it rises up so high that it looms over your little head, and engulfs you, and drowns you into its nothingness.

When will this end? Is life really a trivial matter, and do we truly let ourselves to be played on in its little – and sometimes deadly – games? Probably the childlike soul is frolicking in its own deadly hide-and-seek, experimenting and testing the vulnerability of the body in which it is its abode.

The truth is, until you take charge, these so-called little games will never end.

The sound of gunshot crackled through the crisp cold morning air. The bullet penetrated through the misty dewy darkness of twilight, escaping into the vast emptiness, beyond auditory threshold. It signaled the fresh start of a long 21-kilometer run. Tens of thousands wobbled at their feet, their toes still slightly cramped from the morning cold.

The senses orchestrated themselves to lots of things happening around. The ears captured all that was there to hear: the endless chatter of the overly-excited crowd, the rapid pattering of thousands of feet, the resounding siren of the police, and yes, the gunshot. The eyes looked ahead… and about. They saw people in orange vests in front, beside, and behind. All running on their feet, their faces twitched by the lack of oxygen. The sweet, small mouth – it gasped for air. The lung expanded and contracted at normal pace in intervals. The Chambers of Life pumped slightly faster than usual. Little drops of sweat trickled down the tiny pores of the skin, dripping onto the ground.

There she was, a young woman not over 20, running on her two feet, not too fast, not too slow, a speckled dot among the entire lot. It was her first half-marathon in her life, and she was determined to make it. Not that it was impossible; she had exerted a bit more than an hour on the training grounds running ten kilometers. She mentally repeated to herself that she just had to go slow and take it easy.

It was only 4AM. In the blank state of her mind, the young woman felt extremely refreshed. Nothing crossed her thoughts. She was so relaxed. There was no sign of pain as she swayed left and right (that was the way to run, right?) and her heels hit the ground. It seemed so utterly effortless.

But no one knew. No one knew what the dear child had gone through, that only seven years back, her very life had hung on a thread. That thread was about to snap if it were not for her seven life savers, all crowded around her in the surgery room with their green overalls on.

It had come from the back. This big vehicle, a lorry probably, was speeding down the empty road with hellish swiftness. A young, fat Chinese man was behind the steering wheel. He had a companion at the back, open-air end; was he Malay, Chinese, or Indian no one could remember.

The companion was sitting at the back, but he was not sitting still. He was frantic – but, good Lord, why? The two appeared to be rushing from someone, something. In all the hullabaloo, the driver did not even notice the young girl walking in front of him.

In a matter of seconds, everything happened. The lorry slammed the girl down. Her right shoe slipped out of her foot and flew off, landing distances away. The impact forced the young woman out of her gait too, and she landed on the ground with a thud approximately a hundred meters away.

Nonetheless the lorry did not halt its brakes. It just went on as if nothing had happened. It would have sped off if not for the traffic lights – and her younger brother as well.

The small thin boy ran as fast as his skinny legs could carry. He wanted to stop the driver, and he did. Stupefied by the horror that had occurred right before her very eyes, the boy’s mother stood watching. The little boy made the driver’s companion hoist his motionless sister into the vehicle. He vehemently directed the driver to the nearest hospital.

That night was a night of desperation. As the heart monitor gave out its timely beep, doctors worked on the body, half hoping, half dreading; the child’s mother sobbed uncontrollably in devastation, and her brother did his best to look calm, although signs of overwhelming distraught showed in his eyes. Friends and neighbors came to console the mother, but it seemed hopeless. Finally the main surgeon walked out of the OT. “She has only 25% chance of survival.” That was the last thing anyone wanted to hear.

Her spleen was removed – at least a huge portion of it – and her lung too, for it was completely lacerated. Her blood capacity was below 50%, and her ankle and rib cage were fractured. She was now very pale and thin. Her eyes were shut close as her spirit breathed on and on, considering whether it should hold itself together or simply give up.

In the dire circumstances, her spirit fought through a tough combat between Life and Death, between the real and the Void. It battled to keep the girl alive, her dear heart beating and her lung breathing. Her warring soul never stopped for weeks on end.

Yet just when everyone was almost losing hope on the beautiful child, her beautiful brown eyes flickered open. There were a few more battles, battles that were not as tough as the one before, but were still battles. First she lost her voice – and then it came back, slowly, gradually. Then she had to learn to stand up; she fell hard onto the ground so many, many times the searing pain shot through her feeble spine and left her semi-paralyzed for a second. Next she had to learn how to walk again. On several occasions she fell headlong on her crutches as she hobbled through the corridors of the hospital.

Nonetheless, she conquered each and every fight. She grabbed hold of the crutches – and no, she did not hobble along anymore. Rather, she walked the crutches swiftly, as if she were carrying the crutches with her wherever she went.

Finally, she let it all go. She left her crutches behind and started taking small steps. Before she had even mastered the step, she went ahead and started running – or jogging, more like. It was very hard at first, but Sabrina always believed in allowing herself time to grow. She did not condone in pushing herself far too much. And run she finally did.

Today, at the age of 25, the young woman has not stopped running, although not competitively. She has completed 21 kilometers in two hours – her first half-marathon – and she swims 10 laps in her condominium pool regularly. She is now a month short to her bachelor’s degree, and is working on her first start-up, Brainiac Laboratories. She aims to do her Masters too, with a focus on clinical psychology, and finally develop another startup concentrating on personality development.

Life is about firing one’s passions up to the maximum. There will always be the inner struggles and the external ones as well. Nonetheless, these come together to put the pieces up and make up the being as a whole. You just decide one day to grab your life in your hands and steer your own way. It is about harboring a Spartan spirit, where the strength of the soul overcomes every war it faces with honor,dignity, and perseverance.

I was sitting in the university classroom, pondering over what I should come up with for my Communications assignment. Lots of things happened quite recently, and so my dear mind was in a mesh. Rather unknowingly, I found myself bringing up a topic I had long forgotten, one that I had written countless number of times as I applied to pre-med university. There I was standing in front of the class shamelessly tearing away at the very flesh of my own mind for words for the soul. I was glad I could find my voice again.

The sound of gunshot crackled through the crisp cold morning air. The bullet penetrated through the misty dewy darkness of twilight, escaping into the cast emptiness, beyond auditory threshold. It signaled the fresh start of a long 21-kilometer run. Tens of thousands wobbled at their feet, their toes still slightly cramped from the morning cold.

The senses orchestrated themselves to lots of things happening around. The ears captured all that was there to hear: the endless chatter of the overly-excited crowd, the rapid pattering of thousands of feet, the resounding siren of the police, and yes, the gunshot. The eyes looked ahead… and about. They saw people in orange vests in front, beside, and behind. All running on their feet, their faces twitched by the lack of oxygen. The sweet, small mouth – it gasped for air. The lung expanded and contracted at normal pace in intervals. The Chambers of Life pumped slightly faster than usual. Little drops of sweat trickled down the tiny pores of the skin, dripping onto the ground.

There she was, a young woman not over 20, running on her two feet, not too fast, not too slow, a speckled dot among the entire lot. It was *Sabrina’s first half-marathon in her life, and she was determined to make it. Not that it was impossible; she had exerted a bit more than an hour on the training grounds running ten kilometers. She mentally repeated to herself that she just had to go slow and take it easy.

It was only 4AM. In the blank state of her mind, Sabrina felt extremely refreshed. Nothing crossed her thoughts. She was so relaxed. There was no sign of pain as she swayed left and right (that was the way to run, right?) and her heels hit the ground. It seemed so utterly effortless.

But no one knew. No one knew what Sabrina had gone through, that only seven years back, her very life had hung on a thread. That thread was about to snap if it were not for her seven lifesavers, all crowded around her in the surgery room with their green overalls on.

It had come from the back. This big vehicle, a lorry probably, was speeding down the empty road with hellish swiftness. A young, fat Chinese man was behind the steering wheel. He had a companion at the back, open-air end; was he Malay, Chinese, or Indian no one could remember.

The companion was sitting at the back, but he was not sitting still. He was frantic – but, good Lord, why? The two appeared to be rushing from someone, something. In all the hullabaloo, the driver did not even notice the young girl walking in front of him.

In a matter of seconds, everything happened. The girl was knocked down. Her right shoe slipped out of her foot and flew off, landing distances away. The impact forced the young woman out of her gait too, and she landed on the ground with a thud approximately a hundred meters away.

Nonetheless the lorry did not halt its brakes. It just went on as if nothing had happened. It would have sped off if not for the traffic lights – and her younger brother as well.

The small thin boy ran as fast as his skinny legs could carry. He wanted to stop the driver, and he did. Stupefied by the horror that had occurred right before her very eyes, the boy’s mother stood watching. The little boy made the driver’s companion hoist his motionless sister into the vehicle. He vehemently directed the driver to the nearest hospital.

That night was a night of desperation. As the heart monitor gave out its timely beep, doctors worked on the body, half hoping, half dreading; Sabrina’s mother sobbed uncontrollably in devastation, and her brother did his best to look calm, although signs of overwhelming distraught showed in his eyes. Friends and neighbors came to console the mother, but it seemed hopeless. At last the main surgeon walked out of the OT. “She has only 25% chance of survival.” That was the last thing anyone wanted to hear.

Her spleen was removed – at least a huge portion of it – and her lung too, for it was completely lacerated. Her blood capacity was below 50%, and her ankle and rib cage were fractured. Sabrina was now very pale and thin. Her eyes were shut close as her spirit breathed on and on, considering whether it should hold itself together or simply give up.

In the dire circumstances, her spirit fought through a tough combat between Life and Death, between the real and the Void. It battled to keep the girl alive, her dear heart beating and her lung breathing. Her warring soul never stopped for weeks on end,

Yet just when everyone was almost losing hope on Sabrina, her beautiful brown eyes flickered open. There were a few more battles, battles that were no as tough as the one before, but were still battles. First she lost her voice – and then it came back. Then she had to learn to stand up; she fell hard onto the ground so many, many times the searing pain shot through her feeble spine and left her semi-paralyzed for minutes. On several occasions she fell headlong on her crutches as she hobbled through the corridors of the hospital.

Nonetheless, she conquered each and every fight. She grabbed firm hold of the crutches – and no, she did not hobble along anymore. Rather, she walked the crutches swiftly, as if she were carrying the crutches with her wherever she went.

Finally, she let it all go. She left her crutches behind and started taking small steps. Before she had even mastered the step, she went ahead and started running – or jogging, more like. It was very hard at first, but Sabrina always believed in allowing herself time to grow. She did not condone in pushing herself far too much. And run she finally did.

Today, Sabrina runs, although not competitively. She has completed 21 kilometers in three hours – her first half-marathon – and she swims 10 laps in her condominium pool regularly. She is now a few months short to her bachelor’s degree, and is working on her first start-up, Braniac Media. She aims to do her Masters too, with a focus on clinical psychology, and finally develop another startup concentrating on personality development.

Life is about firing one’s passions up to the maximum. It is about winning battles all the way till the end of the tunnel. It is about harboring a Spartan spirit, where the strength of the soul overcomes every war it faces with honor, dignity, and perseverance.

Gazing blankly into the ghostly sky with its morning star hidden right behind the thick, heavy clouds, I downed my cup of espresso. I tried to shut my thoughts and listen to the sounds around me. I sat still in my wooden chair trying to capture some form of hope for my trusty pen to thrust its wildest dreams on.

If I could, I would. Definitely. I would part this sheet of paper from the book, roll it up, and then put it in a bottle – and set it free. Well, what if I actually did?

My thoughts would have the freedom to linger off through the water surface, forever encased in its protective covering. Hopefully it would seek refuge from raging storms, and finally meet with amicable weather in the Atlantic, before sailing smoothly into the Indian Ocean. Perhaps, thousands of years later someone would be lucky enough to stumble upon it when it gets itself stuck in the soggy sand.

Parts of the lines are quite cheesy, and I do have to apologize, Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber, for borrowing the words in your lyrics to vent my dissatisfaction.

Thank you for calling me a bitch. Thank you for assumming that I am a slut. Thank you for piercing through my heart all your sharp arrows, of setting my soul to flames. Thank you for calling me stupid, and whatever other names you felt befitting. I have never once been that, and I shall show you that I mean it.

The players are going to play, play, play. The haters, on the other hand, they are just going to hate, hate, hate. What can I possibly do about that anyway. I sort of knew you were trouble when you walked in to my life, so maybe shame on me now? Hmmm. All too often I was just left in blank space, baby; because all boys only want love if it’s torture, if it’s pain, if it’s hurt, and if blood oozes out from their hearts. What do you really, really mean? You were, in the end, the reason for the teardrops on my guitar (well, ok; it was really your guitar, but I held it with my dainty fingers sometimes). Finally, your friends talked to my friends talked to your friends talked to me, and so we are never ever getting back together. Not like I actually cared even. I only have to shake it all off my head. Yeah. Loving you was so red, in fact forgetting you was like trying to know someone I never met.

Nevertheless, from the ashes rose a phoenix with wings so large they carried it away from the consuming fire. I started showing gratitude and showering my appreciation on people, sometimes even people I do not even know who helped me in doing something. I allowed myself to be as genuine as possible in dealing with the different kinds of people I have to meet everyday. These things cannot go wrong. As a result, I am proud of myself for having grown emotionally stronger and bolder than before. It could be that my feelings have been numbed from the constant hurt, but my chains have been broken, and my soul has been set free. I hope.

A few more months – just one more semester – I will be graduating!!!! (I do wish I could insert a love icon here.) I shall be done with my degree after a long, long time. I should be so excited right? Yes I am, but no, I am also not. Oh gosh, my mind is wandering to so many places! Life is an exciting venture, a beautiful journey bestowed upon Man. There is no other gift more amazing than the gift of life.

This year also I am chasing time to kick off my positive psychology start-up as well. While I am working on one SBU (strategic business unit, that is) now, I will directly after I graduate, start-up the other SBU. Currently I am looking for sponsors and venues for investors. It has been a crazy six months running about to widen social networks and contact suppliers, and so on, whilst studying final year. I still have not mentioned that I am also doing sales. Haha. Crazy times.

I have of course had my fair share of repeating heartbreaks, but yet I did all I could to keep pushing on and on. Whether it has got to be love, wealth, fame, or self-fulfillment, I wanted it to work out this year. I probably went a wee bit overboard, pushing myself dangerously over the edge. But I had already decided from early this year that I am not going to let things happen to me just like that. I am going to make things happen to me instead.

So I just want you to know: I am fiercely fighting for whatever that is meant to be mine – my degree, my start-up, and HIM!!!!!

Never say never. All I need to do is be patient. Perseverant. Positive!!!! The 3Ps!!! Oooh – how sweet.

November rains are back. Everyday it is raining, raining, raining. The skies are crying, weeping tears of bittersweet joy. Massive clouds of whitish-grey matter cover the sky, creating a reflecting gloom that shrouds the earth. Some twists must be taken, must they not?

Even the air is set with a dewy mist. Winds blow, though not too hard. The ground is moist; in some places it is damp and soggy from all the wetness.

The wisps of mists fill the air as it evaporates, awakening the senses – perhaps with a start – and the soul, with a renewed vigor, skips along the sidewalks in merriment. For through pain, through jagged maps, through persistence it came through it all, and is still coming, on its way. One day soon it shall be no less obvious, because its dear heart would thump with powerful beats along to the tune of the music whispering in its ears.

November is a beautiful month, the time of the year when Mars and Pluto cross paths and stars collide. It is the time of the year of every other year when little baby scorpions emerge from their eggs and take their very first crawl.

Oh! The clock is ticking, and I am running out of time. I must put on my birthday suit. For in a few minutes I am turning 24. How old can I be?

I am in oh-so-deeeeep love with the month of November.

Red Scarlet

PS: This post was written a few days prior to the author’s 24th birthday.

In the midst of the gooey mass of grey matter in the prefrontal lobe stands a huge army of Spartan soldiers with their spears sticking upwards in the air. They are prepared to fight, prepared to conquer malaise, to combat for Truth. For the mind is a wondrously dangerous place, and white lies are in constant battle with black lies and dirty little secrets. With a tweak of a passage of signals, the entire perception alters somewhat drastically. It gives birth to a thought, an idea, and though in its embryonic form, it still has the capability of enveloping the entire physique, covering the subtle pores of the skin with its vulnerable coat like myelineated sheaths of axons. It hydrates the thirsty soul; it instigates a certain craving for – a little cocaine, maybe? Fervently spreading throughout the entire breathing creature, it begins to speak aloud in the creature’s own voice. But how weak the mind is! Yet it is capable of intelligent choice.

Secret Garden. (Photo courtesy of Twitter)

A long time has past since I last published my work on WordPress.

It is a superficially busy time for me because, after this semester, I have only two more to go. Then I shall finally graduate. It is critically important that I do well during these last few months because I plan to sit for masters. Not only that I am working towards developing my own organizational objectives with a music business unit. It is not easy to do this single-handedly, but I am fortunate to be able to work with other entrepreneurs as well.

It truly is one last stage for me to get by. I admit it is tough because I am now handling everything by myself, from tuition fees to organization structure to this little powerful drug – writing – that I do every now and then. I am consummated by exams and university projects and meeting new people. Every now and then I am hurled into Dreamland, where I am trapped in an extremely tall tower waiting for my knight in his white horse to come around and save me of course. At the very same moment, Time is graciously ticking away.

It definitely is fun to form mutual friendships with people and organizations, especially those who would be able to help out in the event that it is necessary. As part of entrepreneurship all that stress that comes along with it – hopefully it ends successfully. I want it to be a success of course! It meaning everything. Which encompasses education, my job, my friends, my family, my life – everything, god damn it. All these are the work of a lifetime. These are all my Paradise.

Tonight I am going to speak out my heart. I am going to pour out every single thought that is trying to fight for space in my head. Tonight I just want to cry out and forget. I am going to climb up the rooftops, stand by the edge, spread my arms wide apart, my back facing the cold, dark night air… and fall.

Fall all the way down. As I descend through the wind, I shall look into the beauty of the skies, perhaps for the very last time. The sack of questions slam me further down, but no, I would not budge.

I breathe in, and out, in, and out; the raw air fill my one and only lung (I lost the other a decade ago), bringing oxygen to my blood. One by one statement after statement surface into my concious.

“My name is Alicia Ai Leng, turning 24 very, very soon, and I study psychology. This does not mean I have answers to your every question. I too have questions myself – many of them used to be unanswered, but more and more are getting clarified. I daresay I know a lot more than some people, but I feel too. I also break down and cry. I need a hug as well every now and then. I have the breaking point, just like everybody else, where the limits are pushed to the maximum. But just how far are these limits?”

For the most part, my life at this time seems like an endless struggle. If you have heard of the saying: She stoops to conquer. Well, I have stooped so many, many times. I was nearly killed in an accident. I nearly killed myself. I nearly lost myself to insanity., the complex of Nature and the supernatural.

My old soul is slowly fading away into the past. Now is now, and I have to act very swiftly. I have drowned myself completely into positivity, completely into work, and studies, and business, and enterpreneurship. And wallahi, for all of heaven’s sake, love! Oh god, what is going on? Why is this happening?

The answer is because people change. With time, people deviate from the norms of tradition – I know this might sound sad, but it is not the time to shed tears now. I change. You change. We change. All of us change. Like all other humans I have blood running through my veins. I breathe the air just like everyone does. My heart pumps life into my body just like other living being. I eat. I pee. I poo. I cry real tears too. I am definitely not a Bobo doll, a punchbag everyone hits mercilessly. I laugh so loud you would have thought I were out of my mind, so long you could have thought that I were out of my mind. There are occasions of burnout too everyone experiences that I also experience. Of course in reality I am only literally meaning what I say. Whether there are ups and downs, I acknowledge that I am imperfect as I am; I cannot please everybody.

Breaking free! This is how I express myself. (Photo credits to Alicia Ai Leng)

Okay, okay. Really sorry for the abbreviation, because I rarely use them in my writing (it is just not my etiquette), but guess what: You only live once. Romance. Risks. Life and death situations. Fight-or-flight. Or the other way round. Shame. Attitude. Opportunities. Courage. Determination. It is worth the risk. So take it, god damn it.

This is just a simple little life project of mine, some scheduled before I get married, some scheduled before I think I want to die. I am an expressionist when it comes to art and things like these; I believe in self-expression. I am always wanting to go beyond what I think I can do and do as much as I can, with the time I have in hand. I am always on the lookout for opportunities, spreading out my dendrites bare naked to really savor the sweet fruits of work.

Life happens, of course, and there is going to be a teeny-weeny little switch in the way things are every now and then. You just got to adapt.

Just like me and my best friend, partner in crime for life, and love. He said time will tell, and as time ticked by the minutes, he awakened my soul. His existence brought a whole new level of experience to me, incorporating more actions and deep thoughts about sharing beautiful times. Making me think seriously, how do I want to do what I want to do tomorrow? With whom?

Below is my list:

I want to express myself through music, writing, the eclectic arts, and the sciences.

I want to dance in the rain.

I want to fly with or without wings.

I want to bungee-jump off the mountains in New Zealand.

I want to travel around the world.

I want to explore the earth like a wanderlust.

I want to sky-dive.

I want to climb the highest mountain in the Himalayas.

I want to dive around beautiful Grecian islands in the Mediterranean.

If there is an expedition to Pluto, I want to go too.

What he calls the Rock-Star Personality, because I am always, always wanting to do anything and everything right away. But he wants me to sit and wait for the moment to happen, because he really, really wants to come along with me. And I want him to come along with me, too. I feel kind of sad when we do not do something together. It is just the way I feel. Some parts of life can be so hard, but the thing is we will survive. These are beautiful times.

The only drawback is the fact that right now I am kind of confined to my studies, but only for a little while. I hope everyone will be a little patient and hold on, because my journey has not ended yet. From a positive perspective, I sense a lot of excitement in the air. The vibes are vibrating vigorously between the particles; a whole aura of happiness is beaming between the neutrons and protons, the charges canceling each other out because of the equilibrium, thus making the charge positive. Sometimes it is too positive I cannot hide… but wait! I got stuff to do which will be done soon enough, so please, please, please be patient with me, and be good.

At times when it rains so bad the roofs start shaking, I want to go out and dance in the rain. I want to get wet, so wet that I am drained. I want to jump off the cliff even, and fall so freely there is nothing to do except living in the moment. I want to shake, and shake, and shake it all. I want to break free, and experience life right now, right as it is. The Blitzkreig, with its natural warring attitude-that I want to fight along also. And I do not care, because these make me feel so fulfilled.

The time I am writing this is already past 3AM in the morning. I am just done with the first round of analysis over some creative work by a particular trauma victim. His writing was exceptionally good – therapeutic for him in a sense – that set me in deep wonderment. Though it did not eventually unclasp the locks to his initial dread, it helped him approach death with a much more positive perspective. Surreal as it sounded, probably to more “normal”people like you and me, it was a hopeless situation he was dealing with. One that had only one end, and a horrific one too.

Where the sweet mouth could not move, and the beautiful lips refused to speak, but the Chambers of Life keeps pounding, and pounding, and pounding, beating loud and clear to dear life, attempting to suppress the drowning emotions away, but at the very same time wanting to cry out. Or wail, even. Oh, who would hear? More importantly, who would help? Often the searing pain of even re-enacting the ordeal in the silent, yet tragic mind results in the victim pulling a mask over his face, only to hide the scars that so embolden him. Time over time the mask grows so thick it necessitates a trustworthy companion to walk carefully down the dwindling stairs of terror right into the dungeon, allowing for the past to surface, little by little.

In the case of unjust death, all the victim could possibly do is sit and wait for the minutes to tick by, slowly, dreadfully, wasting and rotting away into disintegration. It is quite an unfortunate thing to realize, but sometimes the laws and politics interfere with the people, and that becomes an absolutely dangerous thing. The truth is that all of us are looking for a purpose in life; some have found it, while others are still searching for it. What is you were looking for your own treasure box of purpose, when out of the blue, someone comes up to you and tells you that you are going to die tomorrow? How would you feel? Or worse still, what if the ground cracks and opens up, consuming all that was once rightfully yours in less than an hour?

With the blink of an eye, one’s locus of control is shattered into a thousand pieces; every sound, every moment is scrutinized in the senses. Everything seems to get out of hand right at the point of time. Social connections are lost, food is gone, the gory scenes of dead people are everywhere – even the air pukes of death. Images of the self in the same state of destruction, with blood streaming from his wounded torso, form in the mind.

Could you name me a certain film that does not have any love theme? Kind of hard, isn’t it?

Films and music videos and dramas – stage art, as a matter of fact – really have a sort of influence over the complex ideologies of love. It just crossed my choo-choo train of thoughts these very words from a song of a 90’s band The Corrs that goes along the lines of: “I will run away, I will run away with you.”

Oh, how sweet that would be. But it is a little too idealistic, is it not? Because love, no matter how gentle or how vulgar – love sells.

I told a playwright friend I will turn up with a post on the very same subject, with the very same title, If You Look At Love Hard Enough by Mat Atahari. And in the state of meshiness (pardon the pun) my mind is caught up in, I shall write this little prose, regardless of what you presume. Hopefully it will give a little insight into my understanding of the subject matter at hand.

Is love for real, or is it void? (Photograph courtesy of Alicia Ai Leng)